"Oh, they are no better," she said to herself; "for if they were better,
Max wouldn't hang his head like that."
She stood still, watching him with a sinking heart as he came in at the gate and drew near her, still with his eyes cast down. And now she perceived that his countenance was pale and distressed.
"O Max," she cried, "are they worse?—dying? Oh, don't say they are!"
"No; they are no better: perhaps they may be to-morrow; but—"
He stopped, his eyes full of tears as he lifted them for a moment to her face, his features working with emotion.
"Max, Max, what is it?" she asked, clutching at his arm. "Oh, what is the matter? You must tell me."
"My father—our father—" He covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud.
"O Max, what about papa?" she cried wildly. "Oh, don't say anything has happened to him! I couldn't bear it!—oh I couldn't!—but I must know. O Maxie, tell me what it is?"
She had put her arms round his neck and laid her cheek to his. He returned the embrace, hugging her tightly to his breast.
"It mayn't be true, Lu," he said brokenly; "but oh, I'm afraid it is: they say it's feared his ship has gone down with all on board."